


“Fuck da police” to “Oh fuck, it’s the police.”

by the_writer



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Connor Deserves Happiness, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Markus is a disaster gay, Police Officer Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Post-Detroit: Become Human (Video Game), Post-Revolution, Street Racing, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, north is the best wingman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2020-01-06 00:18:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18377045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_writer/pseuds/the_writer
Summary: All Connor wants to do is to get some coffee for Hank so the man could be at least semi-productive. All North wants to do is drag race a dude in a three piece suit. All Markus wants to do is to not get arrested.





	“Fuck da police” to “Oh fuck, it’s the police.”

Connor rolls to a stop at a red light, the morning fog lazily slithering over the road as frost stubbornly clings to the tufts of grass peeking out from the cracks of the pavement, shy and timid in the soft spring breeze. Warm beams of early morning sun shines down in pillars through the thin layer of clouds – crepuscular rays, his database provides.

He sits back in his seat, the purr of the engine humming under him. It was a sleek black model the DPD had given him a year after the revolution. It had been a gift after a particularly difficult red ice raid in the southern part of the city which Connor had been given the option of a rise in his meager salary, or a motorcycle for both police and personal use. Connor had grown tired of either riding with Hank or “loaning” the car while the human was asleep, so he had chosen the bike without hesitation. 

He runs his hands down his front, making sure his vest hadn’t gained any wrinkles along his drive. He had given up his CyberLife uniform the night after the revolution, shedding the thing like an unwanted skin as the cold skeletal fingers of Amanda flickered at the edges of his sensors. Hank had been the one to burn it, the arid smoke filling his ventilation chamber as they had sat on the man’s back porch, side by side in silence as they came to terms of their new reality. The next day Hank had dragged him out to the closest mall, complaining the whole time as Connor had shopped. 

He fixes one of his buttons which had come undone, scanning the road around him. It was a quiet morning, 6:39 on a Saturday, and no other cars at the light except for himself. He adjusts the helmet on his head, a frankly bulky thing Hank had insisted Connor to wear. 

A car shudders up beside him, not particularly old in model, but riddled with rust and held together with duct tape and hope. It was clean though, what was left of the black paint polished and the rims wiped clean and the glass clear of dirt – haggard but tied together with love and pride. The driver’s window rolls down, the reflective glass disappearing as the driver turns and smiles at him.

She’s familiar, her large round rainbow mirrored sunglasses set upon her sharp nose and pink lips stretched into a clever grin. Red curling hair flows over her shoulders as her thumbs drum on the steering wheel. Connor can see movement in the seats behind her; a quick scan shows that there were three others with her, the only visible one being the man seated behind her. The man himself was undescriptive from what he could tell, blond hair, blue eyes, and frantically whisper-shouting to the driver to “knock it the fuck off, North”. 

Whatever else the blond man and the others in the car were saying, it seemed to inspire the redhead, as a fire lit in her eyes as her grin widened into one of excitement. 

“Care for a race?” She purred, hair gleaming in the sun as she tightens her hold on the wheel. 

Connor doesn’t quite understand what she means, his confusion hidden by his helmet as he frowns. Maybe she was in hurry to the local café like Connor? A race for coffee or any race really, was something Hank would probably endorse. He called it “living in the moment, and damning the consequences”. Connor can hear more frantic talking, this time more from passenger seat – something Connor believes to be about “keeping up their image” – a celebrity maybe? She did look familiar after all.

He reaches up to adjust his tie, connecting to the traffic module in the lights to know he has 17 seconds left until the light turns green. He adjusts the helmet on his head on last time, swiping the visor down before settling down in his seat, pale fingers practically shining in the morning light as the woman next to him whoops in excitement, another rev of her engine tearing through the morning haze. He can hear louder protest coming from the backseat, and from the corner of his eye, can see the blond look over his motorcycle, blue eyes widening as he lurches forward, shouting from the top of his lungs. 

“NORTH DON’T HE’S A-“

-The street light flashed green and the black car roared forward, a giddy laugh and shouts of horror trail behind the car as Connor frowns. It had been a quiet morning, a morning where Hank was waiting for him back at the station for something better than the frankly terrible coffee from the break room. He was on the clock, on the job; he should be doing his job-

Mission: Get Hank the “Good Shit” (Coffee)

Tasks: Catch drag racer, go to local café, return to Hank

Connor lifts his remaining foot from the pavement and floors it, flicking the switch on his console as the partially hidden lights along the seams of the metal flash to life, blue and red lighting up the fading fog as he speeds along the crumbling road, the uneven street causing Connor to sometimes swerve as Connor catches up, pulling alongside the vehicle.

Her eyes flick to the side of the road, and Connor nods, raising a hand to point to the shoulder. The redhead growls but slows down none the less, lulling to a stop as Connor pulls up behind the car, watching carefully for any hurried or sudden movements of the other passengers as he contacts Hank the plate and model info. He pulls off his helmet and skims the records. According to his databases, the car had not been registered or updated by the Department of Motorized Vehicles within the last eight years. 

Connor dismounts his bike and approaches, noticing quickly that all windows were now rolled down, hushed whispers fluttering about the car in a frustrated fashion. He can see the stress levels of the occupants of the car are rising, and if his scans are correct, the other passengers are also of the android fashion. 

He steps to the backseat window, and peers inside; the talking coming to a halt as he looks, eyes widening as a very familiar face stares back. Memories of Stratford Tower comes to mind as Simon stares back at him, his LED flashing yellow as Connor awkwardly waves, before looking further in to the backseat to see Josh also staring right at him. Looking forward, he can see who he expects to be North and Markus hurrying to shuffle through a multitude of papers. 

Connor smothers a smile as he walks forward, mirth in his eyes as he bends down, watching, sure enough, Markus and North try to piece together something akin to a registration. They look good though, three years after the revolution and Jericho had been busy, gaining freedom for Androids and earning the rights for them to earn wages and to choose their professions and careers. And that had been just within the first few months, and despite the resistance groups, Androids were part of society, not completely equal, but on the way there. 

“License and registration please,” Connor states, trying to be as professional as possible, a far stretch from his robotic tone from his time in the revolution, but still sounding like a rouse of authority. 

He can practically hear Simon and Josh relax, a spark of happiness igniting as he can see their stress level plummet from a 63% to a solid 27%. He watches for a few more moments as North and Markus fumble with expired registries before the red head looks up and sees Connor standing in front of her car door, small smile on his lips as he watches. 

“You fucking dickwad.” an incredulous laugh escapes North, tension dropping from her shoulders as she drops the flurry of papers on her lap. 

Markus swiftly rounds on North without giving a look to Connor, “North you did not just say that to a police officer did you?” Markus finally turns to Connor, system faltering at the sight of the man, “Officer, I apologize…C-Connor, hello again.”

North looks to Markus, a wicked grin spreading across her features as she takes the liberty to lean closer to Connor, taking her sunglasses off to look him in eyes.

“How about instead of a ticket,” North begins, Markus still staring transfixed on Connor, “Markus here will take you on a date this Friday evening?”

There were so many laws the Jericho crew were breaking with North at the helm; speeding, drag racing, driving an unregistered vehicle, bribing an officer of the law-

“I don’t get off until eight,” was Connor’s immediate response. 

North grins, giving a Connor a wink, “He’ll be parked out front waiting for you, sweetheart. Isn’t that right, Markus?” 

North turns to Markus, her red curls bouncing as Connor can hear Simon and Josh smother laughter from the backseat while Markus seems to be…stalling? Rebooting? Connor cocks his head to the side, wondering if a scan would be too invasive of the leader’s privacy before Markus seems to snap out of his processing by North giving him a not-so-discreet nudge with her elbow. 

“Absolutely,” Markus nods, giving a smile which makes Connor a tad too flustered to be appropriate, “there’s a new gallery which opened last month I’ve been meaning to visit, would you care to join me?”

Connor didn’t know much about art, as Hank had never shown much value in the process or completion of an art piece. He could admit he had seen some local street vendors selling their pieces every now and again, and while Connor had tried to see the emotion behind the brushstrokes, he never seemed to be able to fully understand. Perhaps with Markus it would be different? 

Connor gives confirmation and his processors lag for a moment as Markus’s smile broadens, his green and blue optics glimmering in the morning sun. 

“Will that be all, Officer?” North smiles, pushing the papers onto Markus’s lap as she grips the wheel.

Connor thinks he says something about updating the car’s registration, but it’s jumbled and forgotten before he gives North a nod, the woman letting out a screech of excitement as she floors the gas, Josh and Simon screaming from the backseat of the car as it disappears around the bend. 

Connor walks back to his bike, pulling on his helmet before he stills, realization creeping up his plating as he stares at where the car had once been. He had not only broken the rules of conduct but had let the group off without so much as a ticket despite the multiple offenses and due to this would have write a follow-up report as to why he had let them off easy and-

He had a date with a revolutionary leader. 

Connor laughs for a moment, giddy excitement seeping into his thirium as he mounts quickly, sending a message to Hank about terrible traffic and speeds off to the café just down the road, as he searches his database for anything relating to art and dating etiquette.


End file.
